


Fidelitas Amicorum

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: The Patron Saint of Communicating Like A Fucking Adult [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (/undernegotiated nonmonogamy), Infidelity, Multi, Threesome, author still thinks coach plus husband plus competitor is asking for trouble, friends with make-out benefits, one marriage is doing just fine with its negotiated exception, reasons not excuses, the other needs some work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: ‘He loves her?’ Plisetsky demands, which is not quite the question Takeshi was expecting. ‘He loves her since childhood, but she is married to you, so he is…’ Plisetsky looks disgusted, ‘all very sad, yes?’‘No,’ Takeshi says, very confident in that answer at least. ‘No, Yuri is not in love with my wife.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would really, strenuously not advise reading this unless you have read House of Broken Bones and not hated it. I'm placing this before 'Good Luck and Good Friends' in the series, so we can keep that one as a nice palate-cleanser. Further caveats in the endnotes, along with a comments policy.
> 
> Hats-off to kayloulee for a piece of Good Plot Advice.

‘Your wife.’ 

Takeshi stares for a moment at the teenager who is waiting outside the doors of the Ice Castle. This is not the first time he’s been accosted outside the rink by angry teenagers wanting to talk about Yuko, but the last time was, oh, maybe ten years ago. Also, last time the guy wasn’t talking in English with an accent so thick it takes Takeshi a moment to parse it.

‘My wife,’ he echoes. His instincts say he should tell the kid to mind his own damn business, but this has got to be Plisetsky, last year’s Junior Grand Prix Champion and the reason Yuko’s getting to organise an actual elite figure skating exhibition. So he’s going to be nice.

‘And Katsuki,’ Plisetsky says.

Takeshi stares him down.

‘He loves her?’ Plisetsky demands, which is not quite the question Takeshi was expecting. ‘He loves her since childhood, but she is married to you, so he is…’ Plisetsky looks disgusted, ‘all very sad, yes?’

‘No,’ Takeshi says, very confident in that answer at least. ‘No, Yuri is not in love with my wife.’

‘Oh.’ It’s hard to tell if Plisetsky is pleased by this answer or not. He looks like something crawled up his nose and died, but perhaps that’s just his personality.

‘They’re friends,’ Takeshi supplies. ‘They skated together when they were small.’ So did he, of course, but he dropped out of the sport long before Yuko did. Switched to baseball, wanting to be on a team with his friends from junior high. He’s still not sure, years later, if he maybe regrets that. But it’s worked out okay: he took judo as well as baseball, and that took him to work in the gym, and his life is generally okay now. He’s got his job and Yuko and the kids and he’s pretty happy with all of those things.

Plisetsky continues looking like he’s trying to swallow the world’s worst idea. 

‘Is he…’ he stops, evidently frustrated with either the concept or the process of putting words together in English. ‘Is he a good man? Katsuki?’

‘Uh,’ Takeshi says, and then hates himself for the hesitation. ‘Yes. Yes, he is.’

Plisetsky looks suspicious and unsatisfied with that. He stands on tiptoe and hisses, ‘If he breaks Viktor in the heart, I will kill him.’

So that’s how Takeshi findsout that not only is Viktor Nikiforov, all-round skating superstar and unchallenged chief object of both Yuko and Yuri’s adolescent fantasies, not to mention current cause of his wife breaking into regular and incomprehensible bouts of giggling, in town and coaching both Yuri and Plisetsky, but also in love (or something enough like it for Plisetsky to worry) with Yuri.

Plisetsky storms off down the stairs before Takeshi has time to respond. Takeshi goes inside, and thinks it’s probably a good thing Plisetsky asked _Is he in love with her_ and not the reverse. Not only would that be a lot harder to answer, it might end with Yuko having to take an overly-aggressive Russian teenager down a few pegs, which would be terrible for his ego.

* * *

The first time Takeshi Nishigori kissed Yuri Katsuki was in fact entirely his own doing. He was about eight. It was someone’s birthday party, and Yuri had refused to play the party game. Yuko, who used to be patient with this sort of thing when Yuri was smaller, had declared she wanted to play, and pranced off with her head high. For some reason, Takeshi had stayed with Yuri. 

Yuri wasn’t all that appreciative of Takeshi’s support. He folded his arms and glared and said that Takeshi should go and play the game with Yuko.

Takeshi said, ‘No, I want to stay with you,’ and the look on Yuri’s face had sort of fascinated him. Like Yuri couldn’t figure out where the trick was. ‘It’s a stupid game anyway,’ Takeshi had said, and put his arm around Yuri, like Yuko always did. It wasn’t stupid, actually, but he thought saying so would make Yuri feel better. 

Yuri didn’t seem to feel better. He shrunk away from Takeshi’s arm. Takeshi took it away, of course, but it was suddenly very important that he make Yuri feel better. 

So Takeshi kissed him. On the cheek, only it was sort of on the lips because Yuri moved when Takeshi wasn’t expecting it. 

That didn’t make Yuri feel better either. In fact, it made him look alarmed, and slink away as soon as he could. After some reflection, Takeshi remembered that even though Yuri was totally _little_ , he was definitely old enough to have noticed that boys don’t normally kiss boys. Takeshi couldn’t even have explained, if anyone asked, why boys didn’t kiss boys, or, granting that, why Yuri was different, but he was pretty sure it was different. Somehow. He was also pretty sure that no one else was going to believe that, so he decided to hope Yuri wasn’t going to ask about it, and set out to pretend the whole thing never happened.

He pretty much forgot about it, until years and years later.

* * *

The second and third times Takeshi Nishigori kissed Yuri Katsuki were about six years apart. They started in fairly similar ways.

The second was in high school. They were down by the beach on a winter evening, just the three of them. Yuko was there because she had a thing for Yuri. It was a confused, uncertain sort of thing: even Takeshi, who was ragingly jealous, could see that she wasn’t quite sure when her tiny friend had become hot, or how to deal with the fact that she still wanted to protect him as much (more) than she wanted to make out with him.

Takeshi was there because he had a thing for Yuko. Yuri was there for… whatever reason Yuri had for spending his one permissible late evening with them and not with his family or his school friends.

Now, years later, Takeshi can’t remember what started it, but Yuko dared Yuri to kiss her. And he did: it was sort of perfunctory, but Takeshi hated every brief moment of it.

Afterwards, the two of them looked at him awkwardly.

‘What about Takeshi?’ Yuri said. Takeshi’s heart flipped over in an unpleasant mix of dread and anticipation. He did not want to kiss Yuko for the first time because Yuri dared her to.

‘What about him?’ Yuko gave them both a challenging look. ‘He can kiss you too, if you like.’

For some reason, Takeshi concluded that taking that dare would be better than admitting he’d rather kiss _Yuko_. So he leaned over and kissed Yuri. It was meant to be perfunctory, but Yuri made an ‘umph’ of surprise and leaned into him, and Takeshi, fully conscious that Yuko was watching, cupped Yuri’s face in one hand and decided to do a proper job of it. It wasn’t _long_ and it wasn’t all tongue or anything, but he pressed his lips into Yuri’s and felt him give up, just a bit.

When he pulled back, Yuri looked like he’d been hit over the head. Yuko looked like someone had given her an unexpected gift. In fact, Takeshi _had_ given her unexpected gifts before today, and she looked even more delighted about this one. He’d have been offended, except she decided to show her appreciation by kissing him, too. And then, by some miracle he still doesn’t understand, she decided to keep kissing him on a regular basis, so there were no more weird kissing exchanges with Yuri.

Not, that is, until the third time.

This was the year before Yuri moved to Detroit. They didn’t know he’d be going, then, but he’d made a personal best score once already that season, in Germany, and he’d just placed third at Nationals, which meant his coach had high hopes for the Four Continents, and he was first alternate for the Japanese team for Worlds.

Yuko and Takeshi had left the triplets with Minako (who got the worst of that deal: Minako or the kids? Takeshi was never sure) and gone to Sapporo to watch. Afterwards, Yuri used them as an excuse to escape the gala early, and came to hide out in their hotel room. Takeshi was used to this, by now: Yuri hadn’t been home, really, since he started university - if he wasn’t skating, he was taking make-up exams and doing extra classes over the summer. So Yuko and Takeshi came to him, when they could. And because three people was too many to fit in a dorm room, and Yuri hated going to nightclubs, they usually ended up all three of them in whatever hotel room Yuko and Takeshi had rented, watching bad movies and eating snacks that broke Yuri’s training diet.

They had already congratulated him, of course, but they did it again. Yuko had a lot to say, about Yuri’s performance and his exhibition and all of it. Takeshi made tea.

‘Shinobu-sensei thinks I should get a new coach,’ Yuri said. 

‘What? Is she okay?’ Yuko had calmed down now, and sat cross-legged on the bed, looking worried.

‘No,’ Yuri said. ‘She. She thinks I have a chance to be seeded for the Grand Prix -’

‘You do, you made the minimum in Obertsdorf!’ Yuko reminded him. He’d made it again at Nationals, but coming in third weighed more on him.

‘- and she says she thinks I need something more than she can give me.’

‘Who, though?’ Yuko still knew enough of the national figure skating scene that Takeshi could tell she was trying to figure out who could possibly be a better coach for Yuri than Shinobu-sensei.

‘She thinks I should go overseas. She going to contact Cialdini, in Detroit. He’s coaching a Thai skater at the moment, they’ll be at the Four Continents, so we can talk there.’

‘But Yuri! That’s wonderful,’ Yuko said. Her eyes sparkled. ‘This really is your year!’

‘I don’t know,’ Yuri said, typically uncertain. He took the tea Takeshi gave him, but Yuko shook her head and took it right back off him. 

‘No, no, we should drink to Yuri’s success!’

‘I already had champagne,’ Yuri protested. Yuko ignored him, and produced the bottle of saké she’d set aside earlier. She handed the tea back to Takeshi, who accepted the inevitable and went to pour it down the bathroom sink. When he came back, Yuko had poured Yuri saké in the second mug, and she and Takeshi were evidently going to share the formerly-tea mug. 

They drank, and it didn’t take much to get Yuri tipsy. Or Yuko, although it had always been harder to tell with her: she had far fewer inhibitions than Yuri and was naturally perkier than Takeshi anyway.

‘Do you ever think,’ Yuko said, swiping the mug back off Takeshi, ‘we’re missing out? On stuff people our age are supposed to do?’

Takeshi did think that, but he also thought they - he and Yuko - had plenty of things in their lives that other people their age, kids who didn’t have triplets at eighteen (nineteen, for Yuko) and went on to university and so on, might never have or really understand. He thought that, just as there was time for those kids to have their own children later, if Yuko wanted to go to university later, she could do that. 

She wasn’t talking to him, though.

‘What things?’ Yuri asked, peering into his mug. 

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Yuko said. ‘Going to parties. Making out with inadvisable people. Making terrible decisions. Drinking on school nights.’

‘Technically,’ Yuri said, ‘This _is_ a school night. It’s just I have real permission to skip class.’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ Yuko sounded sad. Takeshi, in whose lap she was currently sprawled, stroked her hair.

‘I think the going to parties and making out with inadvisable people thing might be an overstatement from American TV,’ he said. 

‘Depends on who your friends are,’ Yuri said. ‘Did I tell you I was invited to several gokon this year?’

Yuko’s eyes lit up. ‘Did you go?’

Yuri shook his head, at the same time as Takeshi said, 

‘You know if you go to those you don’t _have_ to decide you want a relationship with any of the people? And if you do you’re supposed to get their number, not go to bed with them at once.’

‘No,’ Yuko sniggered. ‘There are different parties for that.’

Yuri’s face flamed red.

‘Wait, have you _been_ to one?’ 

‘I didn’t realise!’ Yuri said. ‘I thought it was just… like a normal gokon party!’

‘Oh, poor Yuri!’ Yuko giggled. ‘Did you go home with anyone?’

‘Of course not!’ 

Yuri would not be very good at any kind of party, Takeshi suspected, but particularly not the kind organised to help people find partners (romantic or less so). From what Takeshi had heard, at university parties - even more so than at school or workplace parties - young men were supposed to be outgoing and daring and flirtatious. Even Takeshi, who quite liked parties, was sort of glad he didn't have to do that: he was married, everyone knew he was married, he didn’t have to play the roles expected of single men.

‘Pity,’ Yuko said. ‘Enjoy your youth while you can, young Yuri! All too soon it’s diapers and who left all their socks on the floor.’

‘You did,’ Takeshi said. He pointed over toward the doorway, where, sure enough, Yuko’s socks were lying haphazardly next to her outdoor shoes. Takeshi’s had been tucked away in his bag where they belonged.

‘I never said I didn’t,’ Yuko said, her grin sparkling up at him. Takeshi couldn’t help grinning back. He really loved her, diapers and triplets and untidy socks and boring social life and all. 

‘Hey,’ Yuri said, ‘you’re lucky!’ He was definitely tipsy now - he gesticulated with his mug and saké splashed onto the bedclothes. ‘You don’t have to go to parties. You’ve got each other.’

‘Yeah,’ Takeshi agreed, and poked Yuko in the ribs. ‘We can make out any time you like.’

‘We can too,’ Yuko said, and leaned up to kiss him, sloppy and warm and incredibly familiar. Takeshi took the mug out of her hands, before she spilled it, and held the back of her head with his other hand, kissing her long and deep.

When they broke apart, Yuri was watching, a bit of a pink flush on his cheek, and… okay. Takeshi was embarrassed, but it wasn’t really a bad embarrassment. Just weird.

‘Yuko,’ he said, ‘Yuri’s right there.’

She smirked. ‘I know.’ A moment’s pause. ‘You can make out with him, too, if you like.’

Takeshi stared at her. Yuri, who had apparently decided to hide his embarrassment in his drink, spluttered saké.

‘What?’ Yuko looked up at Takeshi, all fake innocence. ‘He said he wanted to make out with inadvisable people.’

‘I did not!’ Yuri protested. Simultaneously, Takeshi complained, ‘Hey, are you calling me inadvisable?’

‘Very,’ Yuko said. ‘I should know, I’ve been sleeping with you for years.’

‘Yuri, tell her that’s the worst proposition you’ve ever heard,’ Takeshi said. He was not for a moment expecting Yuri to take her up on the suggestion: Yuri, who was too shy to go to gokon parties. (Do they even have gokon parties where you can meet other men, part of Takeshi’s brain wondered.)

‘It’s not, actually,’ Yuri said, brow furrowed. ‘And I don’t think you’re that inadvisable.’

‘Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.’

That should have been the end of it, and for about two seconds, Takeshi was sure it was going to be. Then, quite deliberately, Yuri put his mug down on the bedside table, and said,

‘Okay then.’ His face went even redder, but he looked like he’d made up his mind about something. ‘You kissed me once before, and I… I liked it.’

A very small part of Takeshi had apparently been wondering about that for many years, if the weird feeling of relief he felt then was any token. But they sat there for a few more moments, frozen, until Yuko elbowed Takeshi in the ribs.

‘Go on and kiss him, you big lump.’

Not the sexiest instruction she’d ever given him, but the thing was, at the core of it, at the core of everything, Takeshi trusted Yuko. If she wanted him to kiss Yuri, well. It’d be alright. 

‘Come here, then,’ Takeshi said, extending a hand toward Yuri. Yuri knelt up a bit, and shuffled a little forward on the bed, and let himself be guided into a kiss. A surprisingly good kiss, actually. Yuri took Takeshi’s lead and angled his mouth to meet Takeshi’s. He was neither pushy nor closed-off. Takeshi had no idea if he’d kissed anyone else since that night in high school, but abruptly decided that, if he hadn’t, it was a damn shame. Takeshi put just enough distance between them to adjust, and then suck Yuri’s lower lip gently for a moment.

Yuri dragged in a surprised breath and broke away. 

‘Sorry,’ Takeshi said.

Yuri looked shell-shocked for a second. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, don’t.’

‘Don’t… what?’

‘Be sorry.’ He looked like he might say something more, then covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh, shit. I don’t normally…’

Takeshi was starting to think he should worry, but Yuko squeezed his fingers. She, at least, looked perfectly calm.

‘That was the best thing I’ve seen all week,’ she said. ‘Maybe all year.’ 

‘I need more saké,’ Yuri said, suddenly. ‘And then you,’ he directed a look at Yuko that was surprisingly determined, for Yuri -more like the way he looked at an ice rink than he normally looked at other people - ‘should kiss me too.’

* * *

The fourth time - if you count by calendar, rather than by individual kisses, because there were definitely more than one or two involved in that incident in Sapporo - is much, much more difficult than any of the others. Sapporo had been sloppy make-outs and terrible hangovers and Takeshi and Yuko having absolutely mind-blowing sex the next night after the girls had gone to bed. (And talking. There had been quite a bit of talking, both then and after Yuri came back home the next season.)

The fourth time isn’t supposed to happen at all. It isn’t only Takeshi’s marriage on the line (not that it had ever been on the line: that’s one thing he never really believed, even when Yuko had said to him she still daydreamed sometimes about Yuri: about having sex with him, about him wanting her after all this time).

The year after the wedding isn’t easy for Yuri. Yuko, to whom he comes for comfort more than once, laughs a bit to Takeshi, saying she could have told him that. But he and Yuko had had the triplets not long after they got married, and they were very young, and no one had expected them to have it easy. They’d all thought, somehow, that Yuri and Viktor had some kind of magic: that the fairytale romance splashed over the covers of magazines really had come to its Happily Ever After.

It hadn’t. Viktor is away more than anyone expected, unwilling to break with his coach in Russia and pushing himself to stay competitive for one last Olympic season. Yuri, who had spent some of the previous season in Russia with him, puts his foot down and insists he has to stay at home, where he can have the rink to himself. He has the rink to himself a lot, skating late into the night. Some nights, Yuko helps Takeshi put the girls to bed and then goes back down there, just so Yuri isn’t alone.

‘He can’t be a husband and a coach and a competitor all at once,’ Yuko said to Takeshi, one morning. ‘But Yuri won’t let him give up any of them.’

‘I have never,’ Takeshi says, kissing her cheek, ‘been more glad to be a normal husband with a normal job.’

Yuko gives him a crooked smile. ‘You do alright,’ she says. ‘Don’t forget you’re picking the girls up today.’

‘Yes boss.’

Viktor misses Yuri’s Nationals that year. He always does: Japanese and Russian Nationals overlap too closely. This year he doesn’t come home straight away after, though. He’s lost to Plisetsky, again, but also come in third behind Popovich. Viktor stays on in Russia for another two weeks. 

Yuri’s skating is fine, will be fine. He’s struck up a deal with the woman who coaches Minami Kenjirou - Nakako someone-or-other - and spent a couple of intensive weeks with her this season, while Viktor’s been in Russia. She used to be an ice dancer: the tough athletic challenges of men’s jumps aren’t her speciality, but she’s doing well by Kenjirou, and Yuri says he trusts her to keep him from over-working any particular element. 

Takeshi and Yuko, and more or less everyone except Yuri, have known for a long time that Viktor’s main contributions as a coach aren’t technical, not for Yuri. His choreography is brilliant, but his real contribution to Yuri’s career is motivational. That’s where husband, coach and competitor all blur. Yuri is still motivated, with Viktor far away, but it’s a ragged, desperate kind of energy. He sleeps less and breaks his diet more. He starts seeing a therapist, and it only sort of helps.

There’s not much Takeshi and Yuko can do. Takeshi works out with him. Yuko watches him skate. And after Nationals, they take him out for dinner. He drinks too much, but, after one of those silent conversations (not unlike the ones they have when the triplets are doing something naughty but non-destructive), Yuko and Takeshi decide they’re not stopping him.

There’s a moment when they leave the restaurant. Yuri is swaying on his feet. His apartment is on the other side of town, but the onsen is close. Takeshi is about to suggest they walk him there, when Yuri grabs Yuko’s arm.

‘I don’t,’ he says. Stops. Starts again. ‘I don’t like going home alone.’

Minako’s at Takeshi and Yuko’s place, with the triplets. It’s her night off from the snack bar; she’ll be asleep in the spare room already.

‘We’ll come with you,’ Yuko says. ‘For a bit.’

By the time they get across town, Yuri has his arm wrapped around Yuko’s waist and his head on her shoulder.

‘I really love you guys,’ Yuri says, a little slurred. 

‘Abstractly, of course,’ Yuko says, smirking over his head at Takeshi. Takeshi knows she’s not really hurt about that, never really was. She understands the difference, and she knows - they all know - that Yuri’s been a better friend, better son, better brother since Viktor came along, anyway. It’s like it took one person to offer him love with neither precedent nor obligation, before he could really learn to accept the kinds that come with a whole lifetime’s worth of habit and entanglement.

Yuko and Yuri fall onto Yuri and Viktor’s couch in a tangle. Takeshi goes and gets them both glasses of water. When he comes back into the living room, Yuri sits up to down his glass of water, and then flops back onto the couch, this time with his head in Takeshi’s lap and most of the rest of him sprawled across Yuko. Takeshi reaches out and snags Yuko’s hand, kissing the back of it. She smiles at him, and then shoves a cold hand up under the edge of Yuri’s t-shirt so he squeals and thrashes.

Takeshi strokes Yuri’s hair absently, because, well, that’s what you do with people who have their head in your lap. Or you do in Takeshi’s experience, which is, admittedly, hitherto limited to his wife, his daughters, and his cousin’s kids. Yuri’s hair is longer than usual, at the moment, and kind of scruffy - Takeshi thinks it probably needed cutting before Nationals, but without Viktor to badger him into it, Yuri either didn’t think of it, or couldn’t get past the hassle of organising appointments and talking to hairdressers.

Regardless of why his hair is longer right now, Yuri evidently likes having it touched, and his eyes drift half closed. This lasts for perhaps a minute, before Yuko takes advantage of his distraction to launch a devastating tickling attack on Yuri’s ribs. Yuri squeaks, sits up so fast he nearly bangs heads with Takeshi, and retaliates. Retaliates by kissing her. This is, to give him credit, enough to surprise Yuko right out of tickling him.

By all evidence it’s a pretty good kiss, but Yuko’s first words when Yuri pulls back are still, ‘What the fuck?’

Yuri looks at her, and then flops backward to look up at Takeshi. He holds out a hand, skimming his fingers along Takeshi’s jaw.

‘Please,’ he says. ‘I… I need…’

Takeshi looks over at Yuko, long enough for them to confirm in each other’s expressions the one thing that had been missing from, well, from any other time they’d talked about this possibility. Whatever Yuri needs. It’s never been possible before, because Yuri hasn't needed this sort of thing from them, not since that one time in Sapporo. Takeshi catches Yuri’s hand and kisses the back of it, like he’d kissed Yuko’s before. 

There is, however, still one glaringly obvious problem.

Yuko mentions it, so Takeshi doesn’t have to. ‘Yuri,’ she says, hand splayed across Yuri’s stomach. ‘You’re married.’

‘So are you,’ Yuri retorts.

‘And he’s right here,’ Yuko says. ‘Viktor’s not.’

Yuri twitches at the mention of Viktor’s name, and something in his face goes shuttered. ‘No. He’s not.’ 

Takeshi’s just about decided he’s going to put a stop to this. He’s got nothing against making out with Yuri, or more, but if Yuri’s out to get revenge on his husband, that’s… Takeshi flounders for a second, and settles on not cool. Not cool to him and Yuko, any more than Viktor.

‘We talked about… other people,’ Yuri says. ‘Like you two. He knows about Sapporo.’

‘Does he just?’ Yuko asks, sounding fascinated.

‘Yes,’ Yuri agrees, and giggles. ‘He thinks it sounds hot.’

‘Well, it _was_ hot,’ Yuko says. ‘Wasn’t it, Takeshi?’ 

Takeshi thinks, for a moment, of the bone-shakingly good sex he and Yuko had the day after, the way she’d clawed at him and the things she’d hissed into his ear.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, which feels like the understatement of the year. ‘It was.’

‘Let’s do that again,’ Yuri says, and this time when he scrambles upright he’s turned toward Takeshi, cupping Takeshi’s face in his hands and pulling him into a kiss. It’s a bit drunk and sloppy, perhaps, but so were the last ones, and holy fuck, this is a completely different kissing experience. Yuri licks his way into Takeshi’s mouth and somehow scrambles so he’s kneeling over him at the same time, pushing him back into the couch.

Holy fuck, Takeshi thinks. Holy fuck.

It’s a stupidly obvious thing to notice, but Yuri is a lot bigger than Yuko. Of course he is. Takeshi works out with him, he knows what Yuri weighs and how strong he is, but he still thinks of Yuri as _little Yuri_. It’s a lot harder to think of him as little when he’s got Takeshi practically pinned to the couch.

Yuko’s hand snakes in between them, coming to rest on Takeshi’s chest. The touch steadies him, and she leans in close enough to kiss his cheek.

There’s a moment when Yuri pulls back to breathe and Yuko whispers ‘You’re my favourite husband ever’ in Takeshi’s ear, and then things get a bit tangled. Messy. Feverish. Yuri and Yuko make out with each other over Takeshi’s body, which is hot. And then they decide, without verbal consultation, to gang up on him, which is hotter still. Yuri yanks Takeshi’s t-shirt off him and Yuko rakes her nails down his skin. One of them kisses him and the other one tweaks his nipples, and then they switch.

Someone ought to warn you, Takeshi thinks, not to go to bed with people who’ve been dancing or skating together most of their lives. It’s dangerous. They read each other too well. 

‘Your wife,’ Yuri says, into Takeshi’s ear, ‘is wearing too many clothes.’

It takes Takeshi a moment to re-focus and realise that yes, in fact, Yuko is the only one of them still wearing a shirt.

‘If you ask me she’s always wearing too many clothes,’ Takeshi says. Yuko pokes him in the ribs.

‘Well, help her get them off then,’ Yuri says, and he sort of slides off Takeshi’s lap and onto the floor. Both Nishigoris look down at him in surprise, for a second. He waves a hand imperiously. 

‘Well?’ Yuko raises one eyebrow at Takeshi, and this, this he’s used to. Undressing Yuko is, when it comes down to it, one of his favourite hobbies, and not one he gets to indulge too often. Usually she’s the businesslike one, hauling her clothes off and then his and urging him to get on with the important part of the evening (or morning, as the case may be). 

Yuko’s wearing a blouse with actual buttons, so Takeshi might as well make a show of it. He pulls her back up against him and flicks the buttons open one by one, kissing her neck and shoulders as the collar opens. Yuri watches them both avidly.

Yuko leans forward and flicks her own bra undone, saving Takeshi the embarrassment. It’s not that he can’t; he can absolutely undo a bra. It’s just quicker and easier if Yuko does it. Half the time she doesn’t even wear one at all, so he’s had less practice than he could have had.

Yuri reaches out and catches the bra as she slides it down her arms. He sets it aside and gazes up at her like he’s just discovered one of the wonders of the world. Takeshi can’t blame him: Yuko’s breasts are pretty fabulous. He slips a hand around and tweaks one of her nipples, enjoying the way she shivers when he does and the way Yuri’s eyes follow his fingers like they’re drawn by magnets.

‘I want,’ Yuri says, and stops.

‘Want what?’ Yuko asks. She’s smirking, like a woman who knows that almost nothing that comes next is going to displease her.

Some of Yuri’s composure shatters (who’d have thought it, little Yuri _composed_ in a situation like this?) and he bites his lip.

‘Want to go down on someone,’ he says, in a rush. ‘Don’t really care which, I just… want…’ He makes a weird jerky motion with one hand, like he’s trying to grab a word out of the air. It doesn’t work.

Takeshi has a sudden, very arresting mental image of that mouth on his dick, and Yuri’s strong hands holding his hips down. It’s not an unattractive image. Quite the contrary. But something about it seems… too much, or slightly wrong, even as it’s incredibly hot. He feels like he wants to ask for more time, which is ridiculous, because chances like this don’t hang around for you to get used to the idea.

‘I volunteer as tribute,’ Yuko says, firmly, saving him from his quandary.

‘Have you ever gone down on a woman before, Yuri?’ Takeshi asks. He’s genuinely curious: who knows what Yuri might have got up to in Detroit? 

‘I,’ Yuri says. ‘No.’ He looks like he might add something else, but he shuts his mouth. Yuko reaches out and ruffles his hair.

‘I promise it doesn’t bite,’ she says, and the idea sends them all into giggles.

‘Want me to undress her for you?’ Takeshi offers, when they’ve calmed down a bit. Yuri seemed to like watching, before. This was a good idea, because he nods, and stays on the floor while Yuko stands up and Takeshi unzips her pants and peels them off. Yuri does the last bit, pulling them off her ankles one at a time. They do the same with her panties, and Yuri kisses the inside of one anklebone.

Yuko shudders and Takeshi feels it in his hands on her hips. The gesture looks natural on Yuri, natural and elegant. Takeshi isn’t going to forget the curve of his neck as he bends over Yuko’s foot any time soon. But it’s also very obviously not his gesture alone: it’s Viktor’s. They’ve all seen Viktor kiss Yuri’s skates (on television; and on days when he thinks no one’s watching at the rink).

There’s an awkward moment when Yuri looks up at the two of them and they know that he knows that they know. 

Takeshi breaks it, kisses Yuko’s hip and asks the only really important question at this point: ‘How should we do this, then?’

After a bit of fumbling - and a few breaks for someone to kiss someone else messily and fervently, and one for Yuri to discover the feeling of Yuko’s breasts in his hands - they end up with Yuko sprawled in Takeshi’s lap, one leg up on the couch and the other on Yuri’s shoulder as he kneels on the floor next to them. This gives Takeshi a pretty good view, both of Yuko’s face as it becomes rapidly obvious that Yuri may never have gone down on a woman before but he’s definitely acquired sufficiently transferable skills, and of Yuri between her legs. 

Takeshi spreads one hand over Yuko’s breast, gently circling the nipple with one finger, and mostly leaves Yuri to it. He’s never had a chance to watch Yuko’s face this closely, before - it’s sort of hard to do when your own face is otherwise occupied - and it’s fascinating. When she’s panting and flushed, spots appearing all down her chest, Takeshi realises what’s missing, and leans forward a little to tap on Yuri’s hand where it lies on her thigh.

‘Fingers,’ he says. ‘One or two. Sort of curl up,’ he says, and makes the approximate gesture with his own fingers. 

Yuri blinks for a second, then actually snorts. ‘Well that’s familiar,’ he says, and Takeshi feels his own face flame red when he realises what Yuri’s talking about. 

‘Shut up and get on with it,’ Yuko says, and yanks on Yuri’s hair. He complies, and doesn’t drag it out much after that. Yuko comes, shaking and gasping, in Takeshi’s arms. It’s sort of like the times when they’ve jerked themselves off together, and it’s nothing like that, because Yuri’s looking up at them both across the length of Yuko’s body.

‘Come here,’ Takeshi says, when Yuri slides his fingers out and Yuko blinks her eyes open. Yuri comes as he is told, clambering onto the couch and kissing first Takeshi then Yuko. He’s less insistent this time, sweeter, more like the way he’d kissed them in Sapporo. Except now he tastes of Yuko’s body, and Takeshi can’t decide if that’s the weirdest or the hottest thing about this evening.

Yuko wraps her arms around Yuri and kisses him and kisses him, and Takeshi pets them both. He’s still half-hard but starting to think that’s okay, that maybe he doesn’t want anything more from this evening. Which, it turns out, is a good thing, because for all his prowess at novice cunnilingus, Yuri is still quite drunk, and he abruptly falls asleep, face mashed into Yuko’s neck.

Yuko looks up at Takeshi and laughs, quietly. They give him a few minutes, and then somehow get themselves out from underneath him. He doesn’t even stir. Takeshi considers leaving him on the couch, for a moment, then figures: what else does he work out for? Lift weights, you’ll be able to pick up a fully-grown figure skating champion when he’s too drunk to walk himself to bed!

They get him tucked into bed, still half-dressed. Only then does Takeshi realise that Yuri didn’t get off tonight, either. He wonders what that means. Possibly just that even Yuri’s famous stamina doesn’t keep him going when spectacularly drunk.

‘Do you think he and Viktor have really…’ Yuko asks, back in the living room.

‘Maybe?’ Takeshi shrugs. He can’t see a reason why Yuri would lie, but now that he’s asleep and it’s just him and Yuko and their second thoughts, the whole thing seems weird. 

Yuko bites her lip. ‘Even if…’ She pauses. ‘I wouldn’t like it if you slept with someone without telling me,’ she says.

Takeshi blinks down at her. ‘I wasn’t going to,’ is all he can say. ‘This is… different.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Yuko says, impatient. Takeshi isn’t entirely sure he likes the fact that his fidelity is a matter for impatient dismissal, but supposes it’s better than having an insecure wife. ‘I mean,’ Yuko goes on. ‘Even if they have… talked about other people. I don’t think Viktor’s going to like this.’

Takeshi bites back the urge to say she should’ve thought about that _before_ she volunteered to introduce Viktor’s husband to the wonders of cunnilingus. Except that so should he, so he’s got no grounds to criticise. 

‘Also,’ Yuko says, ‘I’m worried about Yuri.’

Takeshi knows she is. He is, too. He’s worried about Yuri because he cares about Yuri, of course he is. But he’s also worried about Yuri because Yuko is, and worrying about Yuri comes as a package deal with Yuko. He kisses her forehead, and makes a decision.

‘You stay here,’ he says. ‘I’ll go home, and think of something to tell Minako.’

Minako, it turns out, doesn’t need much telling. She hauls herself out of the spare room when Takeshi gets the kids up, and listens as he tells the girls that Mama is having a sleepover at Yuri’s place because Yuri was feeling sad.

‘I think,’ Minako says, putting her coffee cup in the sink and gathering up her bag. ‘I will spend some extra time at the studio today. What do you think, Takeshi?’

Takeshi looks at her funny for a moment, before he realises what she’s asking. Should she expect to find Yuri there; does that mean she should be there or stay away?

‘Good idea,’ he says. If last night turns out to have been a terrible idea, which it very well might, Yuri will probably avoid the rink when Yuko’s on shift, which will mean he’ll be in Minako’s studio.

The worst thing about this, Takeshi thinks, is that he can’t think of any other situation Yuri could have gotten into where he and Yuko couldn’t help, even if just by being _around_. And he does want to help, he always has - or they wouldn’t have travelled miles to visit over the years, and Takeshi wouldn’t have been working out with Yuri since he moved home, and Yuko… well, Yuko wouldn’t be at Yuri’s place now, probably trying to find some way of making it all less disastrous.

Minako puts her hand on his arm. ‘You let me know,’ she says, ‘if you and Yuko need anything. For yourselves.’

At least, Takeshi thinks, Yuri isn’t alone. And neither are they.

* * *

A couple of days pass. Yuri avoids Yuko when they’re both in the rink. Yuko tries not to go out of her mind with worry. Takeshi tries to keep the wheels of the family more or less on the road.

By some extraordinary turn of fortune, the call comes at a time when both Takeshi and Yuko are at home, but the girls aren’t. Takeshi has just come off an early morning shift at the gym, and Yuko has a mid-week day off in return for taking someone else’s weekend shift at the rink. Takeshi is in the kitchen when Yuri Plisetsky calls him.

‘What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing, Nishigori?’ Plisetsky yells, down the line.

‘Um.’ Takeshi says. ‘Loading the dishwasher’ probably isn’t what Plisetsky means, and anyway, he’s forgotten the word for it in English, if he ever knew.

‘You’re supposed to be a fucking grown-up,’ Plisetsky continues. ‘Grownups,’ he goes on, ‘don’t let their friends cheat on their husbands, and they certainly don’t _fuck him themselves_.’

‘I didn’t _fuck_ him,’ Takeshi protests. Yuko walks into the room at precisely this moment, and all the colour drains from her face.

‘Oh, _whatever_ ,’ Plisetsky snarls. ‘I don’t care whose dick did what, you understand me?’

‘Um.’ At least Takeshi has the sense not to protest that actually, all dicks stayed in their respective pants. If that made a difference, well, he’d be relieved for Yuri’s sake, but would sort of think less of Viktor for it.

‘If this fucks up _either_ of their seasons,’ Plisetsky goes on, ‘I will personally gut and fillet you.’ 

Well. At least Plisetsky’s English is superb these days. Perfect for yelling at people from the other side of the world.

Yuko looks terror-struck, and Takeshi realises that she might actually think it’s _Viktor_ yelling at him.

‘Plisetsky,’ he mouths, and relief washes over her. She holds out her hand for the phone.

‘Yurio,’ she says, ‘Yurio, is Viktor okay?’

Whatever Plisetsky says back to her isn’t shouting. Typical: he’s always been much nicer to Yuko than to anyone else, at least as far as Takeshi knows.

‘Wait,’ Yuko says. ‘Let me put you on speaker.’

‘Okay?’ Plisetsky sounds a little confused, and Takeshi is reminded how young he actually is. Too young to be dealing with other people’s marital crises, certainly.

‘I’m not…’ Yuko shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about this without Takeshi.’

‘Oh, now you have a functional concept of communication,’ Plisetsky snarks.

‘Yuri said…’ Yuko swallows. ‘Yuri said he and Viktor had agreed about sleeping with other people. I take it that’s… not true?’

In all the time they’ve known each other, Takeshi can’t remember ever knowing Yuri to lie. Well, except for obvious lies like ‘I’m fine’ and ‘my anxiety is completely under control’. Maybe ‘it’s fine, my husband agreed’ counts as the latter sort of lie, to Yuri? No, that seems wrong.

‘They had _talked_ ,’ Plisetsky says, ‘about sleeping with other people. _Together_.’

‘Oh.’ Yuko bites her lip. Takeshi runs back through that evening in his head, remembering the part about Viktor thinking Sapporo sounded hot. Not hot in the sense of wanting Yuri to do that again: hot in the sense of him and Yuri wanting what he and Yuko have. Of course.

‘The other Yuri,’ Plisetsky says, voice dripping with disdain, ‘says he might have misunderstood, or maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly, or…’ He stops. ‘It’s not important. The point is, how did _neither of you_ think to check?’

Yuko looks devastated. 

‘What, call up Viktor Nikiforov and ask him if we can sleep with his husband?’ Takeshi asks.

‘Yes! Or _something_!’ Plisetsky’s shouting again, and Yuko flinches away from the phone. Takeshi rests a hand on her shoulder.

‘Plisetsky,’ he says, and feels oddly sure of himself. ‘Plisetsky. Calm down.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down you stupid, stupid… stupid _people_ ,’ Plisetsky shouts.

‘Stop it.’

That voice works on the triplets. And on Minako when she’s drunk and belligerent. And on certain of Takeshi’s clients who think they pay the personal trainer to be sworn at. It also works on angry Russians, or at least, on this one.

‘We should have been more careful, perhaps,’ Takeshi says, and lets Plisetsky digest that admission. ‘But,’ and this feels like finding solid ground beneath you when swimming out of your depth, ‘I think it is not my job to call someone’s husband to check if they are lying or confused. When my daughters bring a friend home from school I call their parents to check on them; that’s not how I treat my friends.’

Plisetsky is silent for a moment, and then breathes out slowly and audibly. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘That’s a fair point.’

‘Yuri is,’ Yuko begins. Stops, then starts again. ‘Viktor left him alone, he’s supposed to be training but he hasn’t got his coach or his husband.’ There’s a strong streak of reproach in her voice when she says, ‘ _He_ didn’t ask Yuri first when he decided not to come home for weeks.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Plisetsky says. ‘I’ve already yelled at Viktor about that. But it’s not an excuse.’

‘No,’ Takeshi says, and squeezes Yuko’s shoulder again. ‘But maybe it is a reason.’

* * *

Somehow, they all survive the season. Yuri and Yuko talk, and Takeshi doesn’t ask details. Yuri texts Takeshi and asks him to go running together, and they _don’t_ talk, but everything balances out to more or less okay between them. Viktor comes home, and anyone can see things are strained, but the sky doesn’t fall in. Yuri goes with Viktor to the Euros. It’s not a great season for either of them: Yuri loses to the Canadian guy at the Four Continents, and Viktor doesn't even make the podium at Worlds. But, as far as Takeshi can tell, the Katsuki-Nikiforov marriage holds together.

Summer rolls around. Takeshi and Yuko take the kids to Disneyland. Viktor and Yuri disappear to Australia for two weeks, apparently on the grounds that no one there cares about figure skaters. By the evidence of instagram, within about three days they’ve managed to befriend an entire ice hockey team, so that logic might have been faulty.

In August, Plisetsky comes to visit, and he brings the Khazakh skater, Altin, with him. Yuko appears utterly unsurprised by that, so Takeshi acts as if he knew all along they were an item. Viktor organises a bonfire down by the beach, and he and Yuri chase Plisetsky up and down the sand, brandishing sparklers like weapons of war.

‘Sometimes,’ Altin says, to Takeshi, ‘I remember Viktor is supposed to be an adult, and am very surprised.’

‘I have three children,’ Takeshi says. ‘Triplets.’ He waves his hand at the scuffle going on between three figure skaters and a dog. ‘And also, I have these friends.’ 

The analogy doesn’t quite come out right, but Altin gets the point, nodding solemnly. ‘I have many cousins,’ he says. ‘I think they are easier to handle.’

In September, Yuri and Viktor take Takeshi and Yuko to dinner. Everything is very nice and not weird at all until Viktor coughs, and says,

‘So, I can’t think how to say this, but we were wondering, would you like to have sex together?’

Yuri’s face goes bright red, but he mutters, ‘All of us, this time.’

Yuko manages not to spit her drink across the table in shock. Nor does she emit a high pitched squeal, or giggle, or develop a nosebleed. Takeshi, who remembers vividly the first summer they spent around Viktor and Yuri, is quite impressed.

On the other hand, she doesn’t say anything at all. Viktor looks at Takeshi enquiringly, and Takeshi shrugs. He’s not going to say anything one way or the other until Yuko does. 

‘Yuko?’ Yuri reaches across the table and pokes her arm.

She looks at Takeshi for a second, and then at her best friend, who she has been half in love with since they were all teenagers, and at his husband, her teenage idol and sex symbol.

And says: ‘No. No, Yuri, I’m sorry, but… no.’

Yuri and Viktor look… it’s hard to say. Yuri looks worried, and a little bit disappointed. Viktor looks let down, but in a slightly relieved way. Like someone who’s come into the gym all fired up to work on the toughest machines, only to find them out of order.

‘Are you sure?’ Takeshi asks Yuko. He’s concerned she might be protecting _him_. The idea is weird, but not out of the realm of possibility. He’s pretty sure he’d enjoy making out with Yuri again, and seeing… well, any number of things. 

Yuko looks at him for a second, and then nods. ‘Very sure.’

They walk halfway home in silence, before Takeshi asks her: ‘Why not?’

She tucks a hand into his, and doesn’t answer for a few more paces. ‘Yuri’s cute,’ she says, ‘and I’d… if _he_ wanted us, just him, I’d be there in a heartbeat. But….’ she shakes her head. ‘It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t want to have sex with Viktor.’

‘You don’t?’ Takeshi rakes his brain, and realises that Yuko has not, in fact, expressed any such desire. Not even when he’d just arrived here and she was crushing like mad.

‘Nice to look at,’ she says, ‘but not my type.’ She elbows him in the ribs. ‘Also, can you imagine? We’d have to all have sex in _English_.’

**Author's Note:**

> Caveats lector: I said I wasn't going to write the story of What Happened With The Nishigoris, but here it is! It was trickier to write than expected - not, as I said to someone in comments to House of Broken Bones, because I couldn't see Yuri making an impulsive Terrible Decision, but because it was hard to figure out how to put Takeshi in a situation where he wouldn't logically intervene to stop Yuri fucking his entire marriage up. Also, bear in mind, none of this is either Yuri or Viktor's POV, so if you were hoping for an authoritative scene where they Sort Things Out And Are Okay, this isn't it. I'm a pretentious wanker on an outsider-POV / unreliable narrator kick.
> 
>  **I cannot guarantee this fic is safe for everyone**. I can guarantee you the things I've tagged ARE here, but I can't guarantee it's absolutely free of absolutely everything else, because I am not a wizard and there is no universal list of all squicks and triggers. Consequently sometimes I just don't foresee where the problem is going to be. 98% of the time if you point out a tag I've missed I am happy to add it, but I ask that you be civil while doing so. If that's not something you can manage, don't bother reading in the first place.
> 
> I have not tagged this for polyamory, because no one involved is thinking of their relationships in those terms at this point in the overall series arc. But I would ask you to bear in mind that that's what's undergirding how _I_ (/my story as I see it) read these situations. I would, for instance, consider 'how do you deal AFTER you fuck up' to be just as important as 'have you kept your relationship agreements'. Also, bear in mind the 'reasons not excuses' principle. Reasons people do inadvisable or unethical things is a key consideration in storytelling and does not necessarily mean *endorsement* of said acts on a broader level.
> 
> Final caveat: I did a bit of reading on Japanese drinking culture for the comments about gokon and other parties, but I may have got the nuances wrong. I would be interested to know if so.  
>    
>  _Next day edit:_ I decided that the most implausible thing about this was Russia somehow not having three slots for Worlds, so some tweaks to Viktor's season progress.  
>  _Edit a week later:_ After closer examination of the GPF qualifying rules for 2013, changed a minor detail re: where Yuri earned his minimum score (Graz wasn't one of the options).  
>  _Edit May 2018:_ fixed a minor continuity error re where Yuri placed at nationals in this fic.
> 
> Comments policy: don't yell at me. Be nice. Try not to call fictional characters sluts, because, surprise surprise, that is upsetting to real people who may or may not engage in some of the same activities. If my characterisation clashes with your headcanon we can talk about that, but not if you're going to write me an essay on why I'm wrong and you're right.


End file.
